Boomtown

by Nowen N. Particular

  Everybody in Boomtown was talking about it. Burton Ernie went out to investigate. When I saw him that next Sunday in church, he pulled me aside and said, “I got me a theory about what’s been going on.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “About the robberies.”

  “What about them?” I asked, curious about the sheriff’s theory.

  “At first, I couldn’t make a connection between the odd things that have gone missing. You know: the fencing, the truck, the trees, the digging tools, and the lights from the courthouse. And now them piles of dirt.”

  “What are you thinking?”

  “I think somebody’s been digging a tunnel. Probably a bunch of somebodies and a bunch of tunnels. You see what I’m get-ting at?”

  “Maybe.” I didn’t have a clue.

  “Think about it. Someone stole the tools so he could dig. He stole the truck to haul the dirt. He stole the wood to shore up the tunnel. He took the lights so he could see where he was going. You get it? It’s as plain as the nose on your face.”

  Burton’s theory actually made sense. “I think you’ve got it, Burton,” I told him. “All the pieces fit. Hey, maybe that strange fellow I saw on the trail has something to do with it.”

  “Who?”

  “During the Slushathon this man came out of nowhere. And now that I think about it, I’m pretty sure he was wearing my old coat!”

  “You see his face?”

  “No, I was too busy trying not to kill myself. But I don’t think he was anybody from the town. I can’t really be sure; I don’t think I’d know him again if I saw him.”

  “Too bad. Maybe he’s the one who’s been leaving the dirt mounds. He has to dump all the dirt from the tunnel, if that’s what he’s up to. That’s pretty hard to hide.”

  “You’re right, Sheriff. That’s pretty smart.”

  “Not smart enough. I still don’t know where he is—or who he is.”

  I shook my head. “That’s not the big question.”

  “What could be more important than that?” asked Burton.

  “The most important question of all,” I answered. “Why? ”

  CHAPTER 12

  The Investigation

  Burton was knocking on my front door early the next morning.

  “Sorry to bother you at home, Arthur,” he said, nod-ding good morning to Janice. “But I was wondering—if you had the time—would you ride along with me today?”

  I thought for a moment. I didn’t have any appointments. I was well along with the plans for the upcoming Easter pro-gram. My sermon was already outlined and partly finished.

  “Sure, Burton. What did you have in mind?”

  Burton fiddled with his hat and answered with a sheepish grin, “Well, if it isn’t any trouble—I mean, if you think you might be able to come along—of course, if it’s all right with the missus and all—maybe we could talk about it in the car.” I could tell he didn’t want to say anything in front of Janice.

  “Okay, Burton. Just let me get my coat and hat.”

  The sheriff stood nervously in the doorway as I kissed Janice good-bye and told her not to worry. I gave Holly a kiss on the forehead. The other kids had already left for school. I put on my coat and a scarf against the wind and accompanied Burton out the door and down the sidewalk. There was a light drizzle falling from the overcast sky, fairly typical for the last week of March. We climbed into his police cruiser and headed down the street.

  “Now tell me, Burton, what’s the big mystery?”

  He turned right on Bang Street and said, “Let’s stop at Mabel’s and have a cup of coffee. I’d like to ask her a few questions, and we can make ourselves comfortable while we draw up a plan for today.”

  “A plan for what?”

  “For my investigation. I’ve been putting this off long enough, and with the discovery of the mounds and the connection we made between the digging and the robberies, I’ve got to get me some results or people are going to start wondering.”

  “Wondering? About what?”

  “About keeping me on as sheriff! They’re mostly patient around here, and quite frankly, I think they’re more excited about the robberies than upset. But now with those mounds of dirt showing up, people want answers. I’ve got to do something.”

  “That doesn’t mean your job is at stake.”

  Burton glanced at me as he turned left onto Crumble Street.

  “I’m not a policeman,” he confessed. “Not a real police-man, anyway. I’ve never had formal training. I used to work down at the powder factory until about twenty years ago. That’s when the Bank of Boomtown was robbed. The town didn’t have a sheriff up until then because we didn’t have any crime—not worth mentioning anyway. People pretty much took care of their own business. But after the bank robbery, the mayor had to find somebody, so he asked me.”

  “Why you?”

  “He thought I’d be pretty good at it. He said everyone in town knew me and liked me and trusted me. I had a knack for getting people to talk. Frankly, I was the only one in town who said yes. The mayor asked forty-seven other people before he got to me.

  “I’m as good at the job as anybody else would have been, I suppose. I like people. They trust me. I ride around in my cruiser, watch out for trouble, put out the occasional fire (or start a few of my own). It’s the perfect job for me, and it makes the townsfolk feel better, even though they’ve never really needed me to do anything.”

  We pulled up and parked in front of Mabel’s.

  “So why do you need me?”

  “I know we haven’t known each other all that long, but I trust you. You’re a smart guy, a big city feller, college educated—that sort of thing—and you’ve worked a lot with people. I thought you might be able to give me some pointers. Keep your eyes and ears open as we go around. We can compare notes at the end of the day. Are you with me?”

  I smiled. “Sounds good to me—as long as I don’t have to drink Mabel’s coffee.”

  We went inside and sat in a corner booth and waited for Mabel. She had at least fifteen other customers filling the tables. As we came in, most of them nodded in greeting then returned to their conversations. They were probably discussing the latest theory about the crime wave. Mabel swooped in with a coffee cup for Burton—“Nothing for me, thanks”—and stayed long enough to answer Burton’s questions.

  “Have you heard anything, Mabel? Your customers say anything?”

  “Nothing but a bunch of useless gossip and crazy ideas.”

  “Such as?”

  Mabel scratched her head with her pen and pointed. “Ol’ Jim Dougherty sittin’ over there—he thinks it’s space gophers.”

  “Space gophers?”

  “You know, huge alien gophers from outer space. Came down in their gopher space ship, that’s what he’s sayin’. Thinks they’re diggin’ around for who knows what.”

  “Space gophers. Okay. Anything else?”

  “Lazy Gunderson thinks it’s a government conspiracy.”

  “What, like spies, CIA, G-men, something like that?”

  “Yeah, thinks they’re digging a secret base underground so they can conduct secret government experiments. Just the sort of thing Lazy’d dream up while sleepin’ on his tractor. Those are the two least stupid ideas I’ve heard so far.”

  “Thanks, Mabel.”

  As Mabel shuffled off to be rude to the rest of the customers, Burton said, “She’s up before the crack of dawn to open the diner. I thought maybe she’d have seen some-thing. Whoever’s taking stuff and dumping dirt has got to be doing it at night or someone woulda seen him by now.”

  “You think it’s just one person?”

  “Could be—though I been hoping it’s a whole gang of men. Wouldn’t that be great? Maybe ten or twenty armed desperados with knives and hand grenades and machine guns.”

  “I’d think if there were that many strange faces in town, someone would have noticed.”

  “You’re right, sure. You
see what I mean—you are good at this.”

  Burton choked down his coffee. We stood up and he went table to table asking each group if they’d seen or heard any-thing unusual. No one had. We headed out the door and got back in the cruiser.

  “Now where?”

  “I’ve got to check in with the mayor,” he answered. “He’s going to want a report. I haven’t the faintest idea what to tell him.”

  It was only a few blocks to town hall where Mayor Tanaka had his office. I’d met him at the Spring Fever Festival, but never really had a chance to talk to him. I was extremely curious, wondering how a Japanese American could be the mayor of a town only five years after World War II. When we lived back in California, every single Japanese family in the area had been rounded up and shipped off to internment camps. After the war, very few of them returned. If they did, they were treated with suspicion and fear. How did this man ever get elected mayor of Boomtown? This would be interesting.

  Mayor Tanaka was expecting Sheriff Ernie and graciously shook my hand when we arrived. He was a man of about forty years of age with a strong handshake and dark black eyes and hair. He stood about five feet tall and was dressed in a crisply ironed gray suit, white shirt, and black tie. He had a jagged scar on the right side of his face and deep burns on both of his hands. He also walked with a slight limp, something I hadn’t noticed until then.

  The walls of his office were covered in photos and signed letters. In one frame was displayed a set of three medals. One was the Purple Heart—I didn’t recognize the other two. Next to that was a photo of Mayor Tanaka in his U.S. Navy uniform. He had a miniature battleship on his desk, right next to his name plaque and a tiny American flag.

  We sat down and Burton gave his report—such as it was. The mayor was visibly disappointed.

  “That’s all right, Burton. I’m sure you’ll turn up some-thing. Just keep at it.”

  Then he turned to me and said, “It’s very kind of you to accompany the sheriff on his rounds. I’m sure he appreciates the help.”

  We stood up and shook hands, then the mayor sent us on our way, assuring us we’d come back with more encouraging news. We left his office, stopped to say hello to the mayor’s secretary, the janitor, the bailiff, six people in the lobby, and the mailman. Burton wasn’t in much of a hurry.

  “You’ve got to tell me how Mr. Tanaka became Mayor Tanaka,” I said, sliding into the passenger seat of Burton’s cruiser.

  He turned on the key to warm up the car, but stayed put in the parking space. “Akihiro Tanaka is an honest-to-goodness war hero, no doubt about it. You saw those medals on his wall? The Purple Heart. The Navy Cross. The Silver Star for bravery. Those were all presented to him after the war. There was a special ceremony right here in Town Square after he recovered from his injuries. It was one of the proud-est days Boomtown ever had.”

  “What did he do?”

  “Akihiro was already in the navy when Pearl Harbor was bombed. They rounded him up just like they rounded up every other innocent Japanese American they could lay hands on. They were going to ship him off to an internment camp, but he wanted to fight for his country, same as anyone else. So he was allowed to remain on his ship, but only as a dishwasher. It was humiliating for him, but at least they let him stay in the navy.

  “Their small battleship ended up patrolling the West Coast near San Pedro, California—not very exciting duty. That is until one day when Akihiro was out on deck, and he looked up and saw a Japanese balloon bomb. You ever hear about one of those?”

  I shook my head no.

  “Not too many people have. After the Doolittle raid on Tokyo in 1942, the Japanese retaliated by launching some nine thousand silk balloons carrying antipersonnel and incendiary bombs. They were carried by high-altitude winds and traveled six thousand miles across the Pacific Ocean to the coast of North America. Most of them didn’t make it, but one day all of a sudden they started showing up in the sky all along the coast. Akihiro spotted one of them and notified the deck officer. The deck officer ran and told the captain. Within a few minutes the ship was firing salvos trying to bring the thing down. And they did, unfortunately, right onto the main bridge of the ship! The amidships was on fire in a flash. The fire spread fast and pretty soon the whole ship was going down. It was bad.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “They were lowering the lifeboats as fast as they could, but the fire was burning so hot a lot of men were just diving over the side. Pretty soon everyone was off the ship, but there were six men trapped down in the engine room. Rescuers couldn’t get past the flames. A couple of explosions put a hole in the port side. The ship was filling up with water. It was sinking fast. It was every man for himself.

  “That’s when Akihiro got a brilliant idea. He climbed up into the aft gun turret. He grabbed one of the powder bags and dragged it down onto the deck. Then he dropped it close to the edge of the fire, hid behind a pile of rope, and waited. Boom! The powder blew a neat hole in the deck and cleared away the flames just long enough for Akihiro to throw down a rope and pull the men out of there. He got the Navy Cross and the Silver Star for his bravery above and beyond the call of duty.”

  “And the Purple Heart?”

  “Yep. He got the scar when a piece of flying metal hit him in the face. He got the burns on his hands while the men were climbing to safety. He didn’t leave until all six men got out alive. I told you, he’s a real hero.”

  “So how did he end up here?”

  “He enlisted in the navy right here in Boomtown; his family owns a farm out on Haymaker’s Road. When he got back from the war, the town threw him a parade. Quite naturally, they wanted him to be mayor. Partly because he was a hero. But mostly because he got famous by blowing something up. You know how much we love that sort of thing around here.”

  “I noticed.”

  Burton turned off the engine. “Tell you what, let’s head on over to the library across the way there. Let’s see what we can find out from the librarian, Helga Knutsen. She sees pretty much everyone in town on a regular basis.”

  We climbed back out of the car and crossed Town Square to the library. It was the largest public building in town, solid brick, three stories high, with classrooms, meeting areas, and a large basement level where newspapers, records, and rare books were kept. It was early Monday morning, but the place was buzzing with activity.

  “Pretty busy for a Monday,” I commented.

  “It’s always busy,” Burton answered. “Most popular place in town. The Arts League meets here twice a month. The Boomtown Historical Society, the Men’s and Women’s Rotary, the Hug-A-Slug Club, and so on. That group over there is from the Lions Club. This is the place to be when people aren’t working.”

  “At the library?”

  “Sure ’nough. People in Boomtown read all the time—except when they’re working or shooting off fireworks.”

  “Reading?”

  “Everybody in Boomtown loves to read. It’s one of the two statistics we’re proud of in this town—the employment rate and the literacy rate. Both are almost 100 percent.”

  By then, we were standing at the counter, and the head librarian jumped into the conversation.

  “That’s right. Like we always say: in Boomtown, every-body has a job and a book.”

  She put out her hand and introduced herself. “Hello, my name is Helga Knutsen. And you must be Reverend Button. I saw you at the festival, but we didn’t get a chance to say hello.”

  I shook her hand and looked around at all the people. “Very impressive. I don’t think I’ve ever seen this many people in a library at one time.”

  “It’s the usual stampede. Mondays in particular. We have a lot of meetings and classes on Mondays.”

  While Burton questioned Helga about anything she might have seen or heard from her patrons, I strolled through the rows of books and said hello to some people I knew from the church and town. I saw a group of Hopontops huddled around a table studying a map and waved
hello to Flaming Arrow. I bumped into Gramma Edna among the cookbooks and then Mr. O’Malley with his science class in the largest section of the library: “Explosives and Fireworks.” Jonny was with his class doing a research project on how to chemically enhance the potency of gunpowder.

  Jonny looked over and saw me. “Whatcha doing here, Dad?”

  “Sheriff Ernie has asked me to help him with his investigation.”

  “Really? Can I come?”

  “It’s the morning of a school day. You can’t just skip school.”

  Mr. O’Malley heard us talking. “Are you kidding? Deny one of my students an opportunity to go with a policeman on a real investigation? He can go. He should go.”

  “Yeah, Dad, I should go. I’m sure Mr. O’Malley would want me to.”

  I studied Jonny’s eyes. I couldn’t help but think he had an ulterior motive—something in his tone of voice—but I couldn’t put my finger on it. Hmm. If nothing else, Janice would be happy if I took him along. “Fine, then. Get your things. I’ll have to check with Burton first. This isn’t going to get you out of doing your homework, buster.”

  We rejoined Burton back at the main desk, where he was checking out some books he had on hold. He agreed to have Jonny tag along; they were buddies. Then, as we were saying our good-byes, I thought of one more question for Helga.

  “Burton said that literacy and employment in Boomtown is almost 100 percent. Who’s the holdout around here?”

  Helga smiled. “That would be Volodenka Sviatoslavova. Nobody can pronounce the name, so we just call him Denk. He lives down by the river. I’m sure Burton can tell you all about him. Nice meeting you.”

  As we went out the door and crossed Town Square, I asked, “Learn anything?”

  “In any given two-week period, Helga sees nearly every citizen in this town. They check out books and talk about what’s going on—the local gossip, current events, upcoming activities—you name it. She’s heard all the theories and rumors, but nothing specific. It’s a mystery. How could anyone come and go, take what he needs, dig a tunnel, dump dirt, for almost six months as far as we know, without ever being seen? I’m stumped.”